


Billy's got Ace Hardware

by peterqpan



Series: Harringrove Works [13]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ace Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, M/M, ace representation, no sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterqpan/pseuds/peterqpan
Summary: Can't quite finish any chapters for today (got like four ALMOST DONE, annoyingly) so have this thing for an Ace challenge I got tagged into on Tumblr!  I added and edited a bit...Sorry to my non-Harringrove subscribers!  I've got other stuff in the works, I promise!
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Harringrove Works [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003
Comments: 38
Kudos: 58
Collections: Stranger Things ace fic collection





	Billy's got Ace Hardware

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tbehartoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tbehartoo/gifts).



> This seemed a little too quick and tidy on Tumblr, so I added a bit

Steve sighed, and creaked his seat back to stare at the roof of the Camaro. He wished he was with Nancy. He wished Nancy wasn’t off doing whatever weird shit she and Jonathan did. He kept half expecting a call—”Steve, I’m in trouble,” she’d say. “I need you to bail me out, we—” his imagination failed at anything weird enough, and he sighed, breathing in the stench of old cigarettes and cologne. 

The seat creaked again as he rolled his head to look at Billy Hargrove. “The hell do you and Tommy even _do_ out here for hours?”

“He talks about his dick,” Billy shrugged, passing over the bottle of Mogen David fortified wine. 

Steve snorted, choking. “Why the hell are we waiting on him again?”

“We’re not,” Billy slurred, snickering, and sing-songing, “He’s off with _Ca~rol._ Where's yours, King Harrington? How come you're out all alone?”

Steve sighed, hoping Nancy wasn’t screwing Jonathan Byers. Or in jail. Or both. “Nancy had a _cow_ I broke Byers’ camera,” he mumbled. “Went to get him a new one. Didn’t know what to get. Drove to the city.”

“Huh,” Billy waved for the wine, and Steve took a swig before handing it over.

“Got back and she won’t talk to me. Byers’ house burned down, I guess? The hell was she doing there. Saw her with him. She was—she was _buying bear traps.”_

“Wha?” Billy snorted. _  
_

“Bear traps,” Steve groaned. “Buying...them.” _  
_

Billy nodded slowly, eyebrows raised, and Steve watched him lick the wine off his lips. Billy grinned, leaning close to whisper against Steve's ear. “Tommy gets drunk enough,” he glanced over sidelong, “—he wants to _practice kissing.”_

“Holy fuck,” Steve cackled, coughing, and spilling the Mogen David. “He wants to _kiss_ you?”

Billy laughed, shrugging, and grabbed the bottle back, closing his eyes as he tipped his head back to drink.

Steve watched his mouth and throat, ignoring the niggling feeling he was supposed to be faithful to Nancy. Nancy "Bear-trap" Wheeler. “What—what do you say? When he asks? Do you, uh, d'you _do_ it?”

Billy took his turn to choke, this time, and Steve slapped his back. Billy had breathed in half the bottle, it sounded like, and Steve just kept patting his back, then stroking it. Billy cleared his throat, wiping his eyes, then grabbed Steve’s shirt and yanked him into a stubbly kiss, flavored with the sweet grape of the fortified wine. 

The next day at school, Billy was leaning against Steve’s locker, eating a sucker. He licked it, rubbed it idly against his sticky pink lips, and stared Steve in the face. Steve slowed in the hall until somebody slammed into his backpack, and then he walked over to shoulder Billy aside enough to wrest his locker open. Their shoulders pressed together. Billy leaned in, warm, and smelling of cherries. 

“Wanna get some more practice in, Harrington?” he whispered, and Steve bit back a grin, shaking his head. Once the bell had rung, he grabbed Hargrove by the sleeve and pulled him into the toilets, listening for company. “You take me the nicest places, Harrington,” Billy mumbled, between kisses. “You off with Wheeler this weekend?” 

“Nuh-uh,” Steve grunted back, mouthing down Billy’s neck as he groaned. “Why, you wanna give me some more pointers?”

“Long as you’re taking notes,” Billy laughed, his cheeks warm against Steve’s fingers. “And you got the time.”

“I got time,” Steve said into his curls, breathing in the fumes of Aqua-Net.

Billy told him he was busy after school, but lingered, extracting a promise for lunch break in his car the next day—and then he called that night to explain he was free, if Steve was—not that he cared, he was just bored in this shithole hick town. When Steve asked where he was, he answered too quickly that he was just down the street—he’d been at the gas station, and remembered it was near Steve’s house. “I checked your address when I was looking for Max,” he explained, twice. “And there’s a pay phone here—I—I’m good at remembering numbers. Lots of numbers.”

“Don’t forget my number,” Steve told him, laughing. “I’ll meet you.” Steve pulled the curly cord along after him to the coat closet.

Every time Steve turned around, it was to find an insulting note from Billy slipped in his locker—the insults slid right off, when it came along with another sideways suggestion for a date—or to see Billy himself waiting after a class, or leaning against Steve’s car. The skin over Billy’s ribs was firm, and smooth, and warm, and he laughed when Steve slid a hand up his shirt to thumb over his nipple. 

That Saturday night, Billy pulled up in his drive, and Steve grinned, leaning in the door, as Billy Hargrove tried to act casual. “Thought maybe you were busy, King Harrington,” he called, leaning against the far side of his car.

“Get in here,” Steve laughed, a little thrill running up his spine at the thought that this beautiful boy from California couldn’t stay away. As he pushed Billy back into the corner of the couch, he finally slid a hand down the inner thighs of his jeans, to squeeze his dick—and Billy swore, shoving him off. 

“The fuck are you doing,” he panted, scrambling to stand by the door to the deck. 

“...what?” Steve asked, lost. “You—you weren’t hard. What—”

“You’re straight,” Billy told him, holding his hands out like Steve was armed. “You—you don’t want that shit, you aren’t—”

“...what?” Steve asked again. “I’m what? I thought—you kept—”

“I didn’t say to—to fucking _grab my cock_ ,” Billy growled, cleared his throat, and swallowed. His eyes were reddening.

“You...nobody practice-kisses,” Steve whispered. “Nobody—nobody does that, it’s dumb. You don’t—you don’t _practice kiss_ people you _don’t wanna kiss.”_

“Shit,” Billy said succinctly, biting his lips. He paced in a circle. “You—you wanna fuck me.”

“I—I _guess?”_ Steve waved his arms. “Not if you sound so _excited_ about it, jesus christ. You were seriously _practice kissing._ Well guess what, you fucking _graduate,_ get out.”

Billy shook his head, rubbing his face. “You’re supposed to be straight. You don’t—you don’t wanna touch some _dick.”_

“Not some random dick! Just—oh my god, just leave,” Steve wiped the residual stickiness from Billy’s hairspray on his jeans, and wondered how he’d crossed his wires so hugely. “Go away. Get the hell out. And don’t—don’t fucking _tell_ anyone.”

“Sorry I won’t _put out,_ then,” Billy snarled back, and stalked by towards the pile of shoes by the door. “Fuck you, Harrington, who the hell am I gonna tell, it was _my dumbass idea—”_

“What the _hell_ are we even _fighting about?!”_ Steve yelled, resisting the urge to grab Billy by the shoulders. He ran around the table to get between Billy and the front door. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I wonder,” Billy bared his teeth in a grin, stepping in to shove Steve back into the wall, and backing away. “The hell are you doing, Harrington?! I’m not your girl.”

Steve squinted, bewildered as Billy’s eyes tracked his mouth. He licked his lips, and Billy bit his own, swallowing. “I just—I thought maybe—maybe you wanna be,” Steve whispered, and Billy shook his head, heel turned, and stalked back into the front room. 

“Just want—I was up for some kissing, that’s all,” Billy growled, grabbing his jacket, and Steve leaned over the back of the couch to catch the end of it. Billy didn’t yank it back, and Steve dodged around the couch to catch him around the waist. 

“Why’re you…” he paused, processing that Billy hadn’t smacked his hands away, but he was turned awkwardly to the side, stiff, instead of melting against him. 

“I know you’re with _Wheeler,”_ Billy hissed. “Few kisses aren’t cheating. S’all I wanted.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, reaching up to rub his thumb along Billy’s cheekbone. Billy shivered, leaning into his hand. “Why’d you want to kiss me, Hargrove?”

“Shut up,” Billy muttered, but let himself be pulled in for another kiss, and another, warm and languid and wet, until Steve had walked them back around the coffee table, to the couch. 

“What I don’t get is,” Steve breathed against his lips, and Billy hummed, his eyes drifting shut, “—why you aren’t hard.”

Billy flinched against him, shoving away again. “Not a _faggot,_ I don’t want—”

“Heard you got Heather Lindstrom off with your mouth,” Steve said under Billy’s ear, kissing up his neck. “Never saw your dick. I didn’t think about it while they were talking—”

“Shut the _fuck up,”_ Billy scrambled off the couch again. 

“Wait, no, Hargrove,” Steve stayed where he was. “Talk to me.” He reached out and pulled Billy back by the sleeve, and Billy swallowed hard.

“Wanna get drunk?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve blinked up at him, and ran upstairs to grab the key to his parent’s liquor cabinet from the old prescription bottle in his mother’s bathroom. 

After a few shots of vodka, Billy pulled back from kissing, and took a shaky breath. “Walked into some homo bar in L.A. Some—some huge—” he cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing, and Steve leaned close and kissed his lips. Billy let himself tip into Steve, sighing against his neck. 

“What’d he do?” Steve prompted, and Billy groaned.

“Grabbed me by the hair, shoved my head down on the table,” he said, huskily. “He—he said if—if I was a good boy, he’d let me go down on my knees, and suck his cock. Only—” Billy laughed sharply, “—only time I ever got hard. Like that. With someone.”

“Jesus,” Steve wrapped his arms around Billy’s stiff shoulders. “Um, how—what did—”

“Got the fuck out of there,” Billy snorted. “Didn’t want to end up following some dude around who slams my face into tables.”

“Good job,” Steve told him, and felt him shiver. “Good, you—you did good,” he stumbled over his tongue, trying to figure out where to go with his sentence, and squeezed Billy harder. “Good—”

“I’ll suck your cock if you tell me to,” Billy said, tightly wound as a spool of wire. “I can do that much, if you—”

"...d'you _want_ to," asked Steve, brow furrowed with thought.

"You can yank my head around," Billy offered, clenching his own hand in his curls, and Steve felt his face heat. Billy snickered, leaning in to run his tongue up Steve's ear, and whispering "What, you think I didn't notice?" 

Steve shivered at the hot breath across his ear, and ran his thumb up and down the nape of Billy's neck. "But—but, um, if—if you don't want to—"

"I can get the fuck out, I heard," Billy interrupted, shrugging. "Shove me down on my knees, Harrington, take what you want."

The image of Billy on his knees, with the sly, tense grin he currently held, was almost enough to make Steve forget his train of thought. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "No, no, I don't—what _d'you_ want? Billy. D'you—d'you want to..."

"What, Harrington?" Billy's fingers dug into Steve's shoulders, like claws, and his teeth were bared more than happy. "What do I need to say?"

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again to press it to Billy's, licking into his stiff grimace until he relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut. "Billy," he whispered, pulling back. "You—you just want to kiss? You wanna—you wanna be my boyfriend, but just—kissing?"

"That's not how it _works,"_ Billy growled, but let himself be pushed back into the couch again. "The hell are you gonna do, just—just blueball it forever?"

Steve considered the question seriously, watching Billy pant where his shirt was unbuttoned, and remembering the sugary warm feeling of Billy leaning against his locker, hoping to get kissed. "If...what if I do. Get—I could just go jack it in the shower. I could put—" he frowned around, then grabbed a couch pillow, and placed it in his lap, turning back to Billy. 

"...you're just gonna...hide your cock," Billy stared. "I still know it's _there,_ Harrington."

"I'm not cutting it _off,"_ Steve rolled his eyes. "But if I...if you're just for kissing," he squinted, and Billy snorted a laugh, wide-eyed, "—that's, uh. That's okay? You're really good at kissing, I mean—"

"What," Billy laughed, _"—what?_ What are—that won't ever work, Harrington, you'll get pissed—"

"I won't."

"You will," Billy argued, shaking his head, but smiling. "You'll lose your shit at me someday when I don't—"

"Try me," Steve told him, grabbing his face, and kissing it. Billy tried to argue some more, then just chased his kisses, wrapping his arms and legs around Steve until they were both collapsed on the couch, and Billy was panting into Steve's mouth, his body warm under Steve's weight. "Billy, I liked it. _Hargrove._ I want—I want more, okay, I—you're—you're good, it'd—it'd be good."

"I'm not—I don't like _below the belt,_ Harrington, I'm not boyfriend material—your little pillow can't—"

“Good _boyfriends,”_ Steve tried, and Billy started sniggering, with a little hysterical edge, “Good _boyfriends_ get—they get to decide how they wanna be touched, though? I _want_ you. How—however that works, I mean—you—you decide, it's good. Billy. It'll be so good.”

Billy started taking these loud, deep, jerky breaths against his shoulder, and Steve stroked his back, telling him he was good, and pretty, then apologized for that, and called him hot instead, and Billy half-cried, half laughed until he could barely breathe. 

When Steve woke to pee that night, Billy was watching him sleep. “Shit,” Steve mumbled. “D’d I rub up on your ass. S’ry babe.”

“No, you were good too,” Billy grinned, his smile in the covers sweeter than usual.

Steve forgot he probably had morning breath, and kissed it.

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you so much for wandering in! I'm ace myself, but I never really tried writing it? Hrm. O. <**
> 
> **I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Talk to each other! Talk to me! =D Thank you, thank you for reading this far! XD** (I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.)
> 
> Like my writing? =D Follow my writing progress and WIPs on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)


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